


Kiss Me Dear One More Time

by Quinnoid



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Character Death, Flashbacks, Grieving, I can't stress enough that this is a fic about Cel dying peacefully, Like 80 years in the future, Other, Sad, Softly sad but still sad, and Zolf dealing with it in a good way, ask to tag, loose pathfinder mechanics, which contain accidental injury and fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:07:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27838855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quinnoid/pseuds/Quinnoid
Summary: Zolf had dealt with death before. Had dealt with accidental death, intentional death, natural death, hell, even unnatural death if Sasha, Wilde, and Carter counted. But it never got easier on his old heart.
Relationships: Celiquillithon "Cel" Sidebottom/Zolf Smith
Comments: 8
Kudos: 14





	Kiss Me Dear One More Time

**Author's Note:**

> Hello I made myself sad researching standard Pathfinder ages and this is the aftermath. Title from Driftwood Heart ~ Saywecanfly, which was the main instigator of this.

They’d had a long time together. Zolf was only a hundred or so when Cel started to complain a little more frequently about the aches in their fingers and their stiffening knee. Every morning, he would channel positive energy, giving them a bit of relief they didn’t get from their potions. They hadn’t gotten much more careful though, nearly blowing themself up as frequently, if not more so than Sasha had. But, there came a day when they weren’t quite so excited to go to their lab, when they seemed a little more tired than they had before, when the lines of their face suddenly seemed so much deeper.

Zolf had dealt with death before. Had dealt with accidental death, intentional death, natural death, hell, even unnatural death if Sasha, Wilde, and Carter counted. But it never got easier on his old heart. He knelt beside Cel and took a shuddering breath. They were still, so still it tore at his insides just a little bit more.

~~***~~

_ “Fussy.” Zolf said, a hint of amusement coloring his voice at their squawk of outrage.  _

_ “Fussy!” Cel scoffed. “Rude Mr. Smith. Just rude.” They flicked at his beard, currently twined into a latticed braid until they got bored and asked to redo it. Zolf just grabbed the hand that had been drumming against his leg and laced their fingers together with a smile. They shifted again, but this time settled nicely onto his chest. It warmed his heart to feel them tuck into him quietly.  _

_ Quietly for Cel anyway, as their fingers hardly ever stopped tapping out little rhythms on his prosthetics, or his chest, or anywhere else they could easily reach. Sometimes he recognized it as Morse code, tapping out “I love you,” or the formulas to a potion over and over, and sometimes it was random, whatever beat was playing in their mind at the time. And sometimes it was a childhood story, though he tended to lose track of the code pretty quickly. They were always better at it than him. _

~~***~~

Cel looked peaceful though. Calm. Like they got when their sleeping potion finally kicked in and they would give him a bit of a loopy smile and a dazed smile and kiss. Like they were when they were focused, fixing delicate engineering or mixing volatile potions. He swallowed and stood up slowly. Cel had mentioned, long ago, what they’d like to happen when they died. They had made it seem so distant, so implausible, forty some odd years ago now, but Zolf had taken care to remember. Had prepared a little bit.

~~***~~

_ The conversation had started after Cel had blown their lab, along with a good portion of the house, to bits, severely burning their upper body. Zolf nearly died from a heart attack after seeing Cel so bad off, and when they finally coughed and opened their eyes, he started crying and trembling and hugging them tight. A while later, after the majority of the house had been fixed and Zolf was certain Cel was alright, they sat him down with a serious look in their eyes and a stillness he wasn’t familiar with.  _

_ “Look, Z, we should, we should talk about what happened.” _

_ “You’re fine, Cel. I healed you.” Zolf didn’t want to have this talk. He just wanted to hug them tight and wash the burnt smell out of their hair and sleep. He didn’t want to look at the new scar that started on their cheek and crept down the front of their neck to disappear under their shirt.  _

_ They gave him a vaguely pitying look and Zolf sighed. “Z, you realize that one day I’m.. well I’m not getting younger.” They chuckled drily. “When, well, I guess if it happens, not, you know, not saying it will now! But if it does. We should talk about that. What we want.” _

_ When the conversation was over and Cel was clean and smelled like their normal ozone and cedarwood again, Zolf curled up beside them, and sighed when they wrapped their arms around him. He did feel a bit better.  _

~~***~~

The grave was ready. He could barely see through the tears clogging his vision as he trudged back up the path to the house. They had chosen a lovely little place on the outskirts of Cel’s old village in Okinoshima, and though Jasper had long since moved away to help with an Alchemist's guild, the villagers had continued to bring them gifts and food and good company. They had offered to help him with this as well, but he politely declined. This was something he needed to do alone. Something he wanted to do alone.

When he opened the door, he almost expected them to greet him, goggles wonky and silvery hair somehow defying gravity. But they didn’t. They lay on the bed, utterly still. He took a careful breath before gently picking them up. 

~~***~~

_ The potion burned his tongue pleasantly, and he sniffed at the empty bottle again before passing it back to Cel. They watched giddily, a wide grin spreading across their face, as he felt the potion start to do.. Something. They hadn’t actually told him what it was.  _

_ “It worked!” Cel exclaimed and gripped his fingers, which had started growing a thick, bluish fur, much like their mutagen form.  _

_ “Yeah.” He said then raised his eyebrows in alarm. His tongue felt thicker than normal, and four sharp fangs brushed against his lips. _

_ “It’s alright!” They reassured him. “You’ll get used to it in a minute. Or- or I could give you the antidote. If you want. There’s no pressure, you don’t need to-” _

_ “‘S’alright.” Zolf mumbled around the new weirdness. At least he hadn’t grown wings, though he had grown a few inches, and the world felt very, very small all of a sudden. He shuddered.  _

_ “Are you sure? You’re- I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.” _

_ “Heh. Righ’ then.” He nodded and Cel handed him the antidote, already opened. There was an awkward moment when he couldn’t quite figure out how to use his newly clawed fingers, and they just laughed and helped him drink it. A while later, back to normal, he listened as they rambled about the implications of what had happened, the things they could do if they could get their potions to work for just anyone. He listened happily, leaning against their chest as they stared out the window, their fingers fiddling with the end of his beard. _

_ ~~***~~ _

_ Cel settled in his lap, a comb, oil, and a new tie beside them. He laid back as they slowly began to unbraid his beard. This was their thing, their little ritual. Cel seemed to enjoy the busywork and often told him about their latest experiments or discoveries, or anything else they happened to fancy at the time. But tonight, they were quiet, almost contemplative. _

_ “You alright?” Zolf rasped. They gave him a small smile and a nod but didn’t say anything. He didn’t push them. They took their time combing the oil in and after a moment’s thought, began to braid it back into a complex plait. When Cel was finished, he sat up and wrapped them in a big hug that they returned, gripping his shirt tight. They never did tell him what was on their mind that night, but that was alright. Some things were best left unsaid. _

_ ~~***~~ _

_ They didn’t like the Cambell’s much. Too sticky, they laughed when he made a face. Cel much preferred mysteries with very occasional sticky stuff. Stuff like Sherlock and whatever Agatha Christie was up to. Zolf never did get into them, but on rainy days or days when Cel didn’t quite feel up to blowing up something in their lab again, they would curl up together by a window and read and just enjoy each other’s company. Cel’s fingers would often drum along to the rhythm of the rain against his thigh. _

_ Sometimes, they’d glance up and burst out laughing at the faces he made, but when he tried to explain the twists and turns that prompted them, Cel smiled like he was the only thing that ever made them happy, and he would just lose his train of thought.  _

_ ~~***~~ _

It was done. Zolf hoped he’d gotten it right. He had, because they had talked about this, and he had remembered everything, and.. This didn’t sneak up on them. Well, it snuck up on him, but Cel had seemed to know. Zolf took a shaky breath and sat down by the small mound. He looked up at the stars and whispered a raw and broken goodbye. It wasn’t poetic or beautiful by any means, but then again, neither was he, and Cel had loved him anyway. His heart ached with a fierceness he hadn’t felt since receiving Sasha’s letter, since his ship had sunk, since his brother and parents had died. 

He sat there for a long time, remembering everything, until the first grey light of dawn started to block out the stars. After one last goodbye, Zolf made his way to the house and collapsed into their bed. His bed. He thought about how, just last night, he had fallen asleep in their arms. Their pillow still crackled with a bit of static.

**Author's Note:**

> If the italics are a problem or I've missed a tag, please let me know!


End file.
